


Liar Liar

by ded_i_am_just_ded



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: 2022 Olympics, Confusion, Crack, Future Fic, Jealousy, M/M, Misunderstandings, Romance, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, i swear it's not pliroy though i really considered it, jj has no idea what's going on, yuri throws himself under a bus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-11
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-04-21 08:22:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14280885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ded_i_am_just_ded/pseuds/ded_i_am_just_ded
Summary: Yuri doesn't talk about his parents and very few people know about them, mostly out of necessity.  Yakov, Lilia, and grandpa, of course.  Viktor knows because he's Viktor.  Other than that, the circle who knows about them is very, very limited.Or: Yuri lies to his parents, Otabek doesn't understand why his best friend is avoiding him.  JJ is clueless, but goes with the flow because this is the nicest Yuri has ever been to him (And because JJ doesn't have a death wish).





	1. The Nature of a Truly Desperate Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CatAvalon (CazinaIna)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CazinaIna/gifts).



> I've had this idea for aaaaaages. Literally ages. SO THEN CAT GOES AND HAS A BIRTHDAY AND I DON'T KNOW ABOUT IT. SO SHE GETS THIS.
> 
> I'm technically still on hiatus for all my other fics. But this one won't leave me alone.
> 
> Chapter title/fic title from Kamelot's Liar Liar (which really has nothing to do with this fic other than the perfect title)

Yuri doesn't talk about his parents and very few people know about them, mostly out of necessity. Yakov, Lilia, and grandpa, of course. Viktor knows because he's Viktor. Other than that, the circle who knows about them is very, very limited.

So when rumors fly that two very famous, very non-athletic people are wandering the Olympic village asking where the Russian skating team is staying, Yuri panics. They'd told him they were going to be watching, he hadn't thought they meant _in person_. He throws on his team jacket with the intent to find them and chase them away, but when he throws open his dorm’s door, he's instead confronted with his best friend, who looks just as surprised to see him.

Yuri would like to die now. Otabek looks _amazing_ , which isn't really any different from any other day (why is his best friend so perfect?), but he's got his hair slicked back, like he does for competitions, and he's in his heavy leather jacket. He has two helmets dangling from his left hand, the other raised like he was going to knock.

There's an awkward pause as they both try to sort themselves out, but Viktor interrupts it with a shout of a greeting from the second bed in their dorm and Yuri lands a hand on Otabek’s chest (oh God, those muscles) and pushes him backwards so he can escape the room, pulling the door shut firmly behind them.

“Do you want-"

“Yes.” Yuri snags a helmet and storms down the hallway.

“You didn't let me finish.” He can hear the amusement in Otabek's voice.

“Doesn't matter, let's get out of here.” He pulls on the hairstyle-destroying helmet before the elevator arrives. When Otabek outright laughs, Yuri elbows him in the gut and enjoys the wheeze of air that escapes.

○●○●○●○

Yuri forgets. Really, on some level, it's probably intentional. But he forgets until he checks his phone while they're at a cafe. There's a voicemail and 6 texts, one from Yakov and five from a number he has listed as _Yulia_. He ignores Yakov’s out of habit and skims the others, zeroing in on the last message;

_Dinner at seven. Wear something nice, darling._

He knows better than to ignore the message and he should really go find them both before dinner-or before Viktor finds them. Both are disasters waiting to happen.

“Is something wrong?” Otabek's warm voice breaks through his concentration.

He looks up, eyes instantly tracing the others lips before moving to meet the other’s gaze. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and takes a long drink of his coffee, looking away. When he's gathered himself enough he finally looks back again, “No, sorry. Family things.”

“Your grandfather?”

Yuri shakes his head, realizing he's never told Otabek about his parents. What would his parents say? He's never had friends before, would it be suspicious? And what if Otabek did one of his casual touches in front of them? Am arm around his shoulders, or touching his hand or any of the other things they always do that translate to _comfort_ in their friendship. He knows his parents, his mother in particular, and he's not sure they would understand his relationship with his best friend.

He catches himself staring, turning the word ‘friend’ over and over in his head. He's turning 21 in a few weeks, he's not some hormonal teenager anymore, he's mature enough to know he's had a crush on Otabek for years. Literal _years_. Like, even longer than he really understood what he was feeling. But there's never been anything more, everything has stayed how it always has between them, casual, comfortable. He's never seen any hints from the other that maybe it would be worth pursuing.

Sure, when he'd first figured out what the fuck was wrong with himself, Yuri had done everything wrong; the giggling over stupid shit, the blushing, the avoidance. But he'd sorted himself out, eventually. He's able to make eye contact and not read anything more into when Otabek braids his hair for him or let's him nap on his shoulder. They're just that. Friends.

He's held the silence too long, he realizes. Otabek seems to know he's processing something and gives him time, doesn't react when Yuri physically shakes himself from the thoughts, “I have to meet some people for dinner tonight.” He crosses his arms over his chest and tries not to pout, “I'm not looking forward to it. If I bail, Yakov will murder me in my sleep.”

Otabek smiles, sips his tea, “Sponsors?”

“Something like that.” He drains his own cup, then pushes himself to his feet, “I'm going to get another one.”

Otabek should stop him, he's horrible with caffeine. He's already feeling the buzzing in his head, another one will string him even tighter. Otabek doesn't stop him. Yuri gets an extra shot of espresso added.

His stomach twists in knots while he waits, tapping his foot, leaning on the counter. Otabek isn't watching him, he's looking out the window, and Yuri knows he's essentially doomed. He knows no one will ever fill his chest with butterflies or push him to be better like Otabek does. Even if Otabek never returns his feelings, Yuri can't ignore the emotions that keep filling him.

The bells at the cafe door jingle and a pile of teenage girls come in, just as the barista passes him his drink. He spies cat ears on several heads and his daydreaming comes to a screeching halt. That would be their cue to go. He crosses back to their table just as he hears excited whispering.

“Beka.” He pulls his own jacket from the back of his chair and shrugs it on, “Time to go.”

“What?” Yuri must have interrupted Otabek's own deep thoughts, brown eyes give him a once-over then he turns in his seat to look around.

The excited whispers turn into high-pitched squeals, which spurs Otabek into action, rising way too calmly for Yuri's taste.

Yuri drains his coffee as fast as he can before grabbing Otabek's wrist and dragging him from the table just as he hears, “Yuuuur-”

The cafe door swings closed and mutes the rest of the cry.

○●○●○●○

He knew he was going to regret that coffee, the caffeine is burning through his veins and making him bounce on the balls of his feet in the parking lot. He’s not sure what he’s looking for, but he knows it’ll find him eventually. He’s not surprised that it’s five minutes past the time she’s late; they’re probably lost in all honesty. The thought amuses him enough to keep him from being annoyed.

When the flashy white limousine pulls up is when the annoyance hits. He should have known they wouldn’t be driving. When the door opens he slides in and slumps into the seat closest to the door.

“There you are!” Like he’d been the late one, “Oh, darling, look at you!” Yulia doesn’t look like she’s aged at all, her cheekbones high and perfectly contoured into her hairline. He got his hair from her, brilliant blonde, thick and long; for a moment he contemplated chopping it all off just out of spite. Maybe while at dinner with a steak knife. Her eyes are a dark blue and they glow as they take him in. He can see the moment her shoulders slump when she realizes he’s not wearing designer...anything. He got their sense for fashion, but he also developed a sense for money-saving.

The other occupant looks more his actual age, his hair cut short and close to his head, dark with greying hair around his ears and down his sideburns. Yuri got his eyes from him and the two meet for a brief nod of heads before the older man is leaning to pick up a glass from the minibar to drink an amber liquid.

Yuri crosses a leg over a knee and shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, “Mom, Dad. Are you enjoying Beijing?”

○●○●○●○

They take him to a stuffy restaurant, the type they love and the kind he hates. They’re given a brightly lit table in the center of the main dining room and they stop to talk to people along the way, making the walk feel like it takes forty minutes instead of four. Yuri rolls his eyes and tries to disassociate himself from them.

At the table they order the most expensive bottle of wine, it’s delivered promptly with three crystal-cut glasses. Yuri lifts an eyebrow and pushes the glass away, “I’m competing this week. And I don’t like wine.”

His mother scoffs, waves her hand at the sommelier to send him to Yuri’s side., “Don’t be silly, this is the best of the best, I’m amazed it’s on their list. Just have a glass.”  
  
“No.” He puts his hand over the top of the crystal to prevent any liquid from being poured in, “Water is fine.”

His mother is about to protest when there’s a commotion towards the front of the building, dragging her attention away. Yuri glances in the general direction, opening his menu, then pulls his eyes back down just as a familiar voice reaches his ears and causes him to look up again.

Entering the restaurant is none other than Jean-Jackass Leroy and the entire Leroy brood, his parents and million siblings included. It would be more of a sight to see to Yuri if he cared more about other skaters. JJ’s wife is stuck back in Canada after a minor surgery, and JJ had announced his retirement after the season so he’s brought everyone he could fit in a private plane; his entire family apparently. Yuri covers a scowl by drinking some water, looking up just in time for JJ’s blue eyes to connect with his. The Canadian grins at him, then winks. Yuri inhales, forgetting the water and promptly dragging it up his nose.

Russians cannot breathe with water in their nose. The last thing he sees before he thinks he's going to die it JJ tipping his head back and laughing as he sinks into a chair.

A hand drops onto his shoulder as he struggles through coughing to drag in an actual breath, his mother leaning in to look at him with concern, “Yuri? Are you okay? Do you need to go to the bathroom?”

 _Why the hell_...he cuts that line of thought off and waves his hand at her, leaning away from her as he shakes his head, “Fine. I’m fine.” He shoots a glare in JJ’s direction but the Canadian isn’t looking at them anymore. Okay, good, all the better. Just forget he’s even there.

“Honey? Do you know them? Should we go say hi?” His mother gasps, “Are they your friend your grandfather’s been telling me about?”  
  
“What? No! They’re competition.” Yuri reaches for the menu again, trying to drag the dinner back on-track, he opens it before he freezes, “Grandpa’s been telling you _what_?”

His mother pouts, but picks up her own menu, pretending to glance over it before she sets it down again, “You never tell us about anything! And all you ever post on your social accounts are pictures, never any stories or names! Come on, Yurochka!”

His father realizes his mother is on the edge of a fit and puts a hand out to cover hers, “Darling, Yuri is just as busy as we are. It’s not something to get so worked up about.” He hesitates and looks at his son, “Though it wouldn’t hurt for you to answer your phone once in a while.”

Yuri rolls his eyes and closes the menu, he’ll just pick something at random when the waiter shows up, he’s obviously not going to be given time to study it right now, “You guys do your thing, let me do mine. I’m too old to be bossed around, you lost that privilege years ago. Besides, I’m still bringing in medals, who cares what else is going on with me?”

“So,” his mother leans forward, “Do you even do normal things? Things people your age normally do?”

His eyebrows dip low as he frowns at her, “What? Why would I tell you if I was?”

“Oh, Yurochka.” He hates how that sounds coming out of her mouth, so disappointed. He waits for the condescending remark that’s sure to follow, but instead her eyes light up, “You should come to Moscow after the games! I know you’ll get some time off! Your grandfather would love to see you!” It’s not a horrible idea, he actually relaxes his guard a little at the thought, “And I’d love for you to meet Anya.”

And there’s the catch. He throws the walls back up and stares at her.

“She’s the most darling girl, her mother and I were in a movie together and we three do brunch every time we’re in town together.”

“What.” She doesn’t even notice the blankness in his expression. His father is still reading the menu and is actually nodding his head to her words.

“She’s single and she’s the sweetest girl. She exchanged in the US for a year, so she speaks almost perfect English, and she follows ice skating! She’d really love to meet you!”

“Mom.”

“Honey, I’m just so worried about you, living alone in St Petersburg-”

“Mother.”

“-and really, have you ever been on a date with someone before?”

“Mom!” He slams a hand on the table, rattling the silverware and getting her attention. Her eyes focus on him and widen when they realize he’s glaring at her, “Mom, I love you.”  
  
“I love you, too, honey. If you would just-”

“But I really do not need your interference in my love life. I’m perfectly happy-”

“Are you, though? You know all your father and I want is for you to have the best. And really, I think you should just meet her once.”

 _Shit_. He realizes she’s just going to keep talking over him until he agrees, like she’s done with his father for the past 25 years of marriage. He looks to his father again, but he’s not going to be any hope.

“I wouldn’t be trying to do this if you’d had any sort of dating history, but the papers and your grandfather all say-”

“I’ve dated people before. Recently.” _Fuck_. Why did he say that? He’s never been on a date in his life, unless you count the outings he and Otabek take, which aren’t really dates, as much as he desperately wishes they were. But she shuts up for two seconds.

“What? Who? Why doesn’t your grandfather know about it?”

He panics, looks down at his hands. Well, he can tell one truth, anyway. He steels himself with a deep breath and looks up again, both parents watching him, “I’m gay.”

His mother slumps back in her chair, “Oh. Well. That’s…”

He’s managed to silence her, at least, and it lasts through the main course. She orders tiramisu, just because his hell needs to drag out as long as fucking possible. After the miniscule dessert is dropped off at their table, she spoons up a bite, lifts it to her lips, then puts it back down, “You know, Andrei has a son that’s gay. Maybe he could-”

And shit, he’s back to square one with this. His mother is not going to let it drop. He rolls his eyes just as the Leroy table rises to leave and he’s instantly envious of them.

“I don’t need to be set up.” He says before he can stop himself, “I’m dating someone. It’s kind of serious.” Open mouth, insert foot.

It’s his father’s turn to choke on food and his mother’s fork clatters to the plate, “You are? Anyone we know? We should meet them. Oh, Yuri, why didn’t you say so? Has your grandfather met them? Who is it?”

He opens his mouth to say Otabek’s name. It’s at the edge of his tongue. But he lifts his eyes at the exact wrong time and locks on to blue ones again. It’s not Otabek’s name that comes out of his mouth.


	2. Chapter 2: Liar Liar on the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _That's not the end of it._
> 
> _It's so far from the end of it he’s about ready to throw himself in the pool and ask one of the Olympic swimmers to hold his head under while he drowns. Nevermind that there aren’t any swimmers at a winter Olympics. Maybe he can get a Biathlon guy to shoot him instead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I doing? I don't even know anymore. This fic is so fucking crack-filled and I'm only like 5k into it...
> 
> Anyway, thanks for coming back. Here's Two.

Yuri wishes the waiter hadn't cleared the table of his utensils, because he'd really like to stab himself in the face right now. He doesn't know what the _fuck_ was wrong with his brain. He wants to just go lay down in the street now. He'd really like to die.

JJ and his horde have already left, _thank God_. He really needs to correct himself because there is no way she doesn't know about--

“Oh? Are they a figure skater too? You're not dating a hockey player, are you?” Oh, right, his mother doesn't follow skating if it doesn't contain the combination of Yuri and Plisetsky. 

He schools his face and restraints himself from bashing it on the table top. He's kind of proud he even manages a smile at her, “He's a skater. He's from Canada.” But then, “What the fuck, mom? You really think I'd date a hockey player?”

She sighs and sets a hand on top of his, “I just want to know about him, darling. How did you two meet? How long have you been together?”

“At my senior debut Grand Prix.” Ugh, “I didn't like him. He's an…acquired taste.”

That makes her smile and she moves to finish her dessert, “That's what I said about your father. Well, honey, I hope you introduce him to us while we're here.”

“I don't know,” Yuri finds himself desperately wishing he'd taken some of the wine. Why is he still talking? “We're competitors right now, colluding with the enemy isn't exactly great press.”

He's glad he knows which buttons to press with his super star mother, because she drops the subject entirely. Maybe that's the end of it. Maybe he can pull this off.

He still wishes he had a knife.

○●○●○●○

That's not the end of it.

It's so far from the end of it he’s about ready to throw himself in the pool and ask one of the Olympic swimmers to hold his head under while he drowns. Nevermind that there aren’t any swimmers at a winter Olympics. Maybe he can get a Biathlon guy to shoot him instead.

_Send us a picture of the two of you._

He’s stared at the texted for almost half an hour now and he still hasn’t fully processed it. He’s sitting at the edge of the rink, waiting his turn to practice, his left skate still untied, stretches still not finished and his mother wants a goddamn _picture_. Are there even any photos of them together? Probably not. God, part of him really hopes there aren’t.

When he googles their names together he gets an assortment of journal articles and photos of each of them separately, nothing he could possibly use. He skims through Chulanont’s Instagram but the amount of photos there is ridiculous and he really shouldn’t be wasting his time, especially since both he and Katsudon are tagged with the same damn spelling. Why is this guy allowed to take so many photos of Katsudon? Does Viktor know about this?

“Yuri!” No, he does _not_ jump or throw his phone. He simply hadn’t heard Yakov coming. He picks his phone up off the floor and glares at the old man beside him, “Why aren't you on the ice yet?”

Yuri sputters, but shoves his phone in his bag and violently ties up his skate. Yakov stares at him like he’s going to answer. Instead, he stands up and shoves his guards against the old man’s chest and decidedly does _not_ throw himself onto the ice.

He does laps, warming up, stretching his arms over his head, twizzling and gliding backwards until he feels his muscles loosened enough to pull a triple axel. He hears Yakov sigh from all the way across the rink and looks up to shoot him a cocky grin.

Otabek is there and he almost stumbles over himself, but puts a hand out to balance. He sees Otabek’s smirk, even from here and knows the bastard saw his mistake. He sticks his tongue out at him and turns his back on him to begin working out his first step sequence.

○●○●○●○

Otabek is there when he stomps off the ice, silently handing him his guards and following him back to the bench. He drops down and wipes his forehead off before casting a look at the other, “When’s your practice?”

Otabek hums and looks out at the ice as the Zamboni sweeps across it, “This afternoon. Want to go get lunch? There’s some cool statues over by the cafeteria we can check out and you can take one of your pictures with them.”

Pictures. Ugh, he glares down at his bag as he starts to undo is laces. He has to get a picture with Jean-Jackass somehow. One that doesn’t look like he’s imagining strangling the life out of him. He’ll probably have to even touch him. Goddamn it, he hates himself sometimes.

“They’re called selfies, Altin. Join us in the twenty first century please.” He shoves his skates in his bag and stands up, “Let’s get out of here.”

○●○●○●○

He would just send them a photo of himself and Otabek, his mother might not ever know the difference, but then she also might follow up on everything. He’s frankly surprised she hasn’t called him out on it yet. He flips through the selfies he’d taken (the statues were pretty cool), picks one of the two of them and plays with filters before posting it to all his media accounts.

The likes and comments start rolling in, so he turns off the screen and tucks his phone away. Otabek is off to practice and now is the perfect time for Yuri to figure out what the fuck he thinks he’s doing and how to dig himself out of this mess. He’s sitting on a bench, surprised by they relatively mild weather, watching other Olympians wander the housing complexes. This should be easily fixed. He can tell his mother he was lying. He can say they broke up and he needs time. He can go jump off a br-

“Princess!” A warm bundle of red drops down beside him, startling him out of his thoughts. He actually hisses and leans away, shooting a glare at the intruder, “Come on, _chaton._ It’s just me, no need to get your hackles up.”

“They’re up because it’s you.” He starts to move away then remembers he’s supposed to be making friendly--fucking dating this guy--and forces himself to stay put. The Canadian grins at him with his blinding white teeth and he wants to just scratch his face off with his short, blunt nails. He can’t stop a tsk of distaste and turns his phone back on with a grunt of, “Whatever.”

He can _hear_ JJ’s grin get larger, “That’s better! I was bored and just wandering around and spotted you sitting here looking bored yourself and I figured we could be bored together! Want to go explore together? Maybe we can find some arcade or something around here to entertain ourselves.”

“No.”

“I bet I could beat you at pool. I’m pretty good, you know.” Yuri fails to resist rolling his eyes, “Or one of those racing games. Come on, it’s not like you have anything better to do until Otabek is done with his practice.”

Yuri shoots him a look, “How do you know that?”

“He’s there, you’re here, kind of obvious.”

“What the hell does that mean? We’re not attached at the hip.”

JJ’s face shifts, he frowns and looks Yuri over like he’s searching for something, “Aren’t you guys...I mean...I thought…”

“What? Aren’t we what?” His phone goes off in his hand, pulling his attention away. Fuck. FaceTime from his mother. He should ignore it, but...he looks at JJ again, “I have to take this. Say anything dumb and I will murder you as soon as I hang up.”

Jean-Jackass looks confused, but nods as Yuri hits the accept and his mother’s face fills the screen, “Mother?”

“Yuri, darling, how are things going today? Did you have practice? We should do dinner again tonight.”

“Is that your mom?” Yuri wants to die, “Wow, you look just like her.” Yuri wants to murder JJ and _then_ himself.

“Oh, honey, are you busy? I’m sorry for interrupting.”

Yuri forces a smile and shakes his head, “I was just talking with JJ.” He turns the phone just enough to give JJ some space on the screen, keeping himself partially in the shot.

His mother pauses, then gasps, putting a hand over her mouth, “JJ? The JJ?” Jean’s confused face returns, “Oh, hello, I’ve heard so much about you! Aren’t you a handsome face? I’m sorry to cut in on your afternoon.”

“Heard so much--” He cuts himself off and his self-centered grin returns to his face, “It’s wonderful to meet you, it’s no interruption at all. I was just telling your son he and I should go find something to do. It’s such a nice afternoon and it’s wasted just sitting here.”

“Oh, aren’t you a sweetheart? Yuri, go have some fun. Call me back later.” She smiles her over-sweet smile she usually saves for the media, “It was nice meeting you.” She waves at the phone and disconnects. Yuri drops his arms into his lap and his head backwards to stare at the sky and wonder why his life is so damn complicated.

“So…” Fuck, “She’s heard a lot about me? From you? I knew you secretly liked me. Do you want my autograph? We could take a picture and I can send her my autograph.”

Yuri freezes. A picture. Shit, he hates to say yes to this but, “Fine. One photo.” He holds up a finger towards JJ’s face, “Don’t touch me. This is for my mother, I still hate you.”

JJ’s grin says he doesn’t believe him. When Yuri holds the camera out at arms length and positions it for the perfect angle JJ throws an arm around his shoulder. He tenses, wants to throw it off and burn his coat. Instead, he takes the photo and stands up.

“Is it good?” The Canadian rises next to him, trying to look at the screen, “You should send it to me. Or post it and tag me. Imagine all the good press we’d get together. Come on, let’s go find something to do, you can stare at my handsome face some more.”

Yuri looks to the blue sky again in desperation as the other goes on and on, “Oh my god, shut up.”

○●○●○●○

“So…” Yuri hates that tone of voice but he looks at his best friend anyway, sitting across the table which is apparently a safe distance from him and his silverware, “I hear you spent the afternoon with Jean? How did that go?”

Yuri points his fork at him, it’s a subtle threat and it only makes Otabek’s smirk grow, “One; fuck off. Two; it wasn’t by choice, the guy is like a fucking clingy starfish. And three; fuck off.”

Otabek actually laughs at that, leaning back in his seat. Yuri loves how he looks when he’s laughing. He almost gets lost in memorizing it. But then his best friend has to ruin it with, “You looked like you were having fun.”

He frowns, “How would you know?”

“Oh, I saw it on Instagram.” Yuri’s blood runs cold, “Someone saw you two hanging out and captured a candid moment of it.”

“You’re shitting me right? Please tell me you’re…” He grabs his phone and turns it on and, yeah, there are _way_ too many notifications. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. There it is, he’s fucking trending. With JJ goddamn Leroy. It’s two photos, one of them on the bench, looking at each other, the other of them walking down the sidewalk. JJ isn’t covered in snow yet, so it’s before Yuri pushed him into a snowbank and tried to make a (failed) escape attempt. “Fuck.” Is all he can breathe out.

“Am I being replaced?”

“Fuck off.” He pushes his food away and slams his head on the table, “Why is this my life? What is happening?” He sits back up, pushing his hair out of his eyes, “Will you help me hide his body?”

Otabek shakes his head, that fucker, making Yuri glare at him. He debates adding him to his murder list as he says, “He’s not bad, Yuri. You really should give him a chance. He just wants to be your friend. It’s good press for you, too, if you’re being nice to people for a change.”

“I can be nice to people.” He reaches over and stabs at a green bean, pretending it’s JJ’s face and he’s puncturing a dimple, “Just not him.”

“You’re only nice to me. And sometimes Viktor and Katsuki.” He shoots Otabek a glare, but the other just keeps going, “It wouldn’t kill you to show some sportsmanship.”

“It might.”

“Yuri.”

Yuri sighs and doesn’t reply. His phone continues to fill with notifications and he’s just thankful none of them are from his mother.

○●○●○●○

They’re still trending the next morning. In fact, it’s even worse. People are calling them PliRoy, are speculating that Yuri is The Other Woman for the Canadian douche. And the worst part is, _Jean-Jerkoff doesn’t seem to mind._ He’s already made a post about how he “values the new bonds we’ve formed and settled our differences to be better men.” Which Yuri supposes isn’t so horrible.

And then he posts, “And I wish the princess all the best in his Short Program today, looking forward to seeing him below me on the podium.” and ruins everything. 

People, Angels, _fucking fangirls_ narrow in on “below me” and suddenly Yuri is being tagged in a million different posts that should really be illegal and do people really think like that? It’s two fucking photos for god sake. But people are building stories and Yuri thinks he’s going to be sick.

As he’s debating drowning himself in the bathroom it hits him; if there’s stories like this about JJ and himself are there stories about...him and Otabek? He’s never wondered before, left his fan club to be whatever and he’s never been the center of a big deal with Otabek since he was rescued in Barcelona. He drops to the floor of his dorm and pulls up a search and yup, there they are.

Holy shit, that’s a lot.

He looks around like anyone is going to catch him and clicks on the Images tab.

Holy fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like that's probably a horrible place to cut off, but my muse ran away for the day so that's where we're stopping. Thanks for reading! Come bother me on [Tumblr](http://ded-i-am-just-ded.tumblr.com/)


End file.
